


I'd Move Mountains (To Hold You In My Arms Again)

by Buckets_Of_Stars, mainstreamelectricalparade



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Scrooge McDuck, Cave-In, Complete, Dewey Duck Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Uncle Donald Duck, Huey Duck Needs a Hug, Hurt Louie Duck, Hurt/Comfort, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Overprotective Donald Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Parent Scrooge McDuck, Uncle Scrooge McDuck, Whump, for like a minute it's mostly fluff, huey does in fact also need a hug, like mild whump y'know, that last one was not a recommended tag and i am outraged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainstreamelectricalparade/pseuds/mainstreamelectricalparade
Summary: Even though this is only their 3rd "Official Adventure" together with their Uncle Scrooge, the triplets aren't worried. Not when they've faced monsters, stared evil in the face and won. This adventure, by comparison, is a walk in the park.Their Uncle Donald, however, seems to think otherwise.Huey, Dewey and Louie brush off his concern, push aside the fear that sets Donald's teeth on edge because he's always worried. It's Donald, after all.Then everything comes crashing down.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 39
Kudos: 224
Collections: Fav Recs





	I'd Move Mountains (To Hold You In My Arms Again)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! 😊
> 
> Leah (Buckets_Of_Stars): Okay OKAY I know, i have literally a million other WIPs for at least 3 different fandoms right now but Ducktales deserves the love okay?? *hides* I hope you enjoy this ahh thank you for all of your support guys! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Bug (mainstreamelecticalparade): i got into this show less than a week ago and i'm not entirely sure what happened but here's a whole collab with one of my faves, and to any Iron Dad readers who are confused af, i just say... roll with it 💜😂
> 
> **trigger warning: mild blood, language and injuries**
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own Ducktales or any related materials.

* * *

“Now, listen closely boys, cause this trip could get very dangerous--”

“We _know_ , Uncle Donald,” comes the tired chorus of replies from the three ducklings tailing along behind Donald and Scrooge. 

“That’s kind of what makes it fun, though,” Dewey points out under his breath. Both of his brothers nod in agreement, all of them kicking up stray rocks as they climb further and further into the darkness of the cave. “What’re we here for again, anyways?”

“Treasure, of course, stupid.” Louie says, lobbying a rock hard against the opposite wall. He raises a fist as it sails between two boulders. “Ha! Score one for me.”

“Louie, don’t call your brother stupid,” Donald scolds over his shoulder.

“I didn’t.” The green clad duckling pouts, shoving away his brother’s arm as Huey reaches out. “They’re just being annoying--”

Donald glances behind him, squinting at his nephew suspiciously. “Yes you -- whatever. Just, please don’t do it again.”

“Oh, let them have their fun, lad.” Scrooge chuckles from his place at the very front, using his cane to jump over a particularly large rock. He lands safely on the other side, not seeming to mind the mud and water that splashes up against his suit jacket. “A little bit of danger’s good for them, after all.”

“Yeah, Uncle Donald, it’s _good for us_ ,” Dewey agrees, sounding like he’s gloating a little bit as he races Huey to see who can climb over the rock faster. “Quit being such a buzzkill.”

“ _Someone_ in this family has to have a little bit of common sense, and if no one else is going to, then it has to be me,” Donald grumbles petulantly, falling back just a few steps so he can help his still pouting nephews over the boulder. “Can you all stop squirming for _five seconds--?_ ”

Up ahead, Scrooge pauses in his tracks, nearly causing Donald to slam into him from behind. Ignoring his nephew, the older duck shushes them, tilting his head to listen to something. He holds up a hand, eyes wide. 

“Everyone, quiet.” He orders. 

There’s a hint of urgency in his voice that wasn’t there before, so Donald and the boys fall silent and turn to look at him.

Huey opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but before he can say a word, they all hear it. A low, threatening rumble that seems to be surrounding them from all sides. Dust and pebbles rain down from the ceiling, confirming Scrooge’s fears.

“It’s a cave-in,” he calls, gesturing for everyone to hurry. “Everybody run!”

Cursing under his breath, Donald flinches as a particularly large rock slams to the ground a few feet away from them, kicking up a fine layer of dust and dirt into the already messy air. Squinting against the gloom, the once sailor grapples around until he grasps who he assumes to be Dewey, dragging the shaking duckling behind him.

“Come on, guys!” He cries, trying in vain to reach out for his other boys, their bright shirts barely visible in the dust. “We gotta hurry--”

A large rumble, this one much more powerful than the last, shakes the walls around them. The ground vibrates violently, throwing all of them down with the force. His already loose hold on Dewey gives way, Donald being forced to stumble further away from his kids as he struggles to find his footing and push forward at the same time. 

Unable to reach the boys, but anxious to keep them close, he calls out, choking on the dust in the air, “Stay close, kids! Keep moving!”

“Uncle Donald--!” Louie shouts somewhere to his left and Donald instinctively turns toward his nephew’s panic stricken voice, nearly slipping into a puddle as he skids. “I can’t see you, I can’t--”

Donald hears a quiet yell and a soft thud that sounds like one of the boys has tripped, and he tries to turn back to help, but somewhere up ahead Scrooge calls, “Donald, where are you going, lad? I’ve found an exit! Get a move on, before we’re all crushed!”

An exit! They were saved! Donald looks over his shoulder, squinting through the debris in the air, trying to see the triplets. “We’re almost there, boys, just a little further!”

One of the boys yells something back, but another loud rumble drowns him out, this one so violent that Donald trips, slamming to the ground with a sharp cry. He throws himself upwards after a few seconds, however, practically clawing toward the small flicker of sunlight he can just make out over the last few piles of rocks. 

Finally, Donald, with Scrooge a few feet in front of him, slides out of the cave, squinting in the sun. He pants, hands on his knees, reaching up with a shaking hand to wipe away leftover dirt that smudged across his forehead. 

“Oh boy,” Scrooge says, his scottish accent thick with exhilarated exhaustion. “That was a doozy, huh, Don?”

“Yeah,” Donald nods, finally straightening back up after a few more seconds, a relieved smile flashing across his bill. “Boys? You all okay--?”

Turning back toward the cave’s gaping entrance, Donald fully expects to see all three of his nephews standing there, shaken up but as right as rain, big grins across their faces. Louie would crack a joke, one that would make even Scrooge chuckle, with Huey frantically checking off boxes in his notebook and Dewey brushing dirt from his signature blue shirt, smiling despite himself.

It’s how it always is, after all.

But Huey, Dewey and Louie are nowhere to be seen. Not even a feather.

“Boys?” Donald repeats anxiously, taking a few steps back toward the mouth of the cave, which is now completely closed off by a thick wall of boulders. “Oh, no...”

 _They’re still in the cave_ . Trapped behind the rock wall. Oh God, please, _please_ no.

His kids. His _babies_. 

Donald’s eyes widen in horror, and he runs forward to knock uselessly on the boulders, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Huey! Dewey! Louie! Can you hear me?! Are you okay? Talk to me! _Boys!_ ”

When no replies come, Donald continues to punch the rocks, not caring as his knuckles and feathers throb. His blood is boiling, hands shaking and he sobs, gritting his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Scrooge comes up beside him, flinching away from the gentle touch his Uncle lays against his arm.

“Calm down, laddie. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, okay? I’m sure the boys are fine. Like I said earlier, a little adventure’s good for them--”

Turning sharply to face Scrooge, Donald sucks in a breath, nearly growling. “I don’t want to hear it. Now, if you don’t help me, I swear I’ll use your thick skull as a damn battering ram, got it?”

Clearly taken aback, all Scrooge can do is nod wordlessly, settling in beside Donald. Together, as one, both ducks start to dig through the wall, pebbles and rocks flying behind them. Throat hoarse from screaming, Donald continues calling for the triplets, ignoring the tears that continue spilling down his bill. 

They shift rocks for what feels like hours, but according to Scrooge’s watch, it’s only been about fifteen minutes. Donald shouts the entire time, in the vain hope that the boys might hear him and be reassured. 

Finally, when Scrooge wedges a particularly large boulder out of the way with his cane, a tiny little peephole opens up, not big enough to reach through, but big enough that Donald can hear the boys calling back to him, their voices high and trembling with fear.

“Uncle Donald! Uncle Scrooge! Help!”

What _really_ gets Donald’s attention, though, is a high-pitched noise that, at first, sounds like squeaking, but when Donald concentrates on it, he realizes it’s _chirping_ , which none of the boys have done since they were babies. 

They used to do it all the time, during thunderstorms that tossed the houseboat from side to side and woke them up in the middle of the night. The only thing that could calm them back then was piling into bed with Donald and snuggling into his sides under the blankets, because to little ducklings, under their parent’s wing was the safest place to be.

“It’s okay, boys, we’re going to get you out of there,” Donald promises, voice shaking a little from the effort of trying to stay strong for his kids. He feels a quack of his own build in his chest, a sound he himself hasn’t made in years. “Just--Stay calm, we’re here.”

“Hurry,” Dewey calls, sniffling a little. “L-Louie’s scared.”

“ _Just_ Louie?” Scrooge mutters fondly, not quite loud enough for Dewey to hear him.

“Huey’s uh, scared too, just throwing that out there,” Huey adds, speaking in the third person, apparently feeling a little left out of the conversation. “It’s c-cold in here.”

“Sit tight, we’ll get you out as soon as we can,” Donald reassures them, starting to scrabble at the boulders again with a renewed vigor, the sound of Louie’s pitiful chirping spurring his determination. “Are-Are any of you hurt?”

“Louie tripped,” Huey reports anxiously. “His arm’s all scraped up.”

Donald feels a pang of guilt pierce his chest and he winces, clearing his throat and blinking more than just dust from his eyes. His voice, when he finally manages to choke out a few more reassurances, cracks and he feels Scrooge pause from scooping rocks. 

“It’s alright, boyo.” His Uncle whispers, patting his arm. “We’ll get your boys out, swear it to ya’.”

“I should have gone back for them,” Donald mutters, casting a sad look at the little peephole that he can’t see the boys through yet, before putting all his energy into pushing aside a boulder that was at least twice his size. “I knew that they’d fallen behind, I should’ve paid more attention--”

Shaking his head, Scrooge cuts his nephew off, voice both stern and gentle. “No, no, lad. It’s not your fault, you hear me? If anything, it’s mine.”

Donald blinks, tossing a particularly large rock over his shoulder, listening as it bounces along the dirt. “Why’s that?”

“I brought them along.” Scrooge sighs, cutting between two boulders with his cane. He grunts as he speaks, rolling it down the pile, before scooting closer to the wall. “If it wasn’t for my crazy adventures, none of this would’ve ever happened. _I’m_ sorry, Donald--”

Both adult ducks jump in surprise as Dewey’s voice comes up through the hole in the wall, impatient. “We get it, you’re both sorry. Can you hurry things up a little? Jeez…”

Apparently they hadn’t been talking as quietly as they thought they were.

Donald and Scrooge both shut their bills and got back to work. With a few more rocks out of the way, the hole in the wall became big enough that Donald could see into the cave if he stood on his toes, but it was still too small even for the boys to climb through. Despite that, he couldn’t resist reaching his arm inside, desperate for at least a little bit of contact, some physical reassurance that his boys were okay.

Inside the cave, Louie sniffs, clutching his bleeding arm closer to his chest. His signature green hoodie is smeared with dirt, the fabric rough against his scratches and he winces. Dewey, sitting back on his haunches, squints through the darkness of the cave, glancing up when he hears his Uncle Donald cry out their names again. 

“I’m s-sorry,” Louie whispers, drawing his brother’s attention. Huey, stepping down from a smaller boulder closest to the wall, walks back over to the green clad duckling, grabbing Louie’s hand when he sobs. “I didn’t mean to-to--”

“Oh, gosh, not you too.” Dewey says, but despite his words, his hands are gentle as he gathers his brother close. “It’s okay, Lou, it could’ve happened to any of us.”

“Yeah, it’s no one’s fault,” Huey agrees, sitting down and scooting close to cuddle with Louie, careful not to touch his injured arm.

“B-But if I didn’t fall, you wouldn’t have stayed behind, and we wouldn’t be stuck,” Louie points out miserably, swallowing down another pathetic chirp. God, why is he acting like such a freaking _baby_? 

“Still not your fault, stupid.” Huey says, shivering. Louie can barely see him through the darkness. “You didn’t drop the rocks on us, after all. If anything, we should be mad at this dumb cave.”

Louie snickers, before another throb from his arm has him whimpering. Faintly, the young duck can just make out his Uncle’s voice through the wall, and he can’t stop a loud chirp of distress from rising within him again, his whole body shaking. 

From beside him, Huey startles, nearly dropping his Junior Woodchuck book as a small speck of light finally illuminates the dusty cave. Dewey, sitting up again, raises his hands above his head, trying in vain to reach the small hole now poking through the rocks. 

“Uncle Donald?” He calls, voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “Are-Are you there?”

“I’m here,” Donald’s voice filters in through the hole, the sound filling the boys with a tiny amount of relief. “I’m here, my boys, it’s alright, shh.”

They watch as he sticks his hand into the cave, feeling around the wall, searching blindly for them. Dewey grabs on to it with both of his own, a short chirp escaping him. 

Once he starts, the blue clad duckling doesn’t seem to be able to stop. More scared sounds rise up, tears filling his eyes as he holds onto his Uncle’s wing with both of his own, nuzzling into the soft feathers.

Huey and Louie scramble to their feet and hurry to join their brother, climbing up the rocks to be able to reach their uncle’s hand, chiming in with chirps of their own. Huey holds onto the sleeve of Louie’s hoodie to help him keep balanced, since he only has one arm to steady himself with, his injured one cradled close to his chest protectively.

The sounds of their pain and distress-filled cries seems to wake something within Donald because, after taking a second to cup each of their cheeks in his warm palm, he’s leaning back out, digging at the rocks with even more vigour than before. 

He’s making his own sound, deep in the back of his throat. A low sort of quack that seems to vibrate through the rock, curling gently, almost lovingly, around each of the triplets and they sob, huddling even closer together. Huey and Dewey, finally giving up on staying strong for their brother, shiver fully in the cold, damp air, wrapping their arms around each other. 

Finally, after what feels like years, the last boulder is heaved away, both Scrooge and Donald panting, wiping dirt and sweat from their faces. 

“Good job, lad.” Scrooge says, and Donald pauses for a second to flash his uncle a grateful smile, before crawling down the last few feet into the cave, squinting in the musty darkness. “I’ll make sure no more rocks come down on us, alright? Go get your boys.”

“Uncle Donald!” Huey gasps, the first to spot the older duck entering the cave, carefully extracting himself from his brothers to fling himself at their uncle. 

The other two ducklings aren’t far behind him, and Donald’s arms are full of his boys before he can even blink. He gathers them close, nuzzling each of them, relieved to find them unharmed, aside from Louie’s scraped arm. The triplets, for their part, just cuddle as close to him as possible, curling up underneath his arms and burrowing into his sides. 

Donald murmurs quiet reassurances to them, cradling the backs of their heads. “I’ve got you, now, my boys, my babies, it’s alright,” he promises. “I’m here.”

Carefully, Donald reaches down, drawing Louie up into his arms first, cradling the green clad duckling close to his chest. Louie nuzzles closer with another chirp, his injured arm thankfully not getting stuck between his uncle and himself. Huey’s next, getting settled along his uncle’s other side, tears still making their way silently down his cheeks and Donald takes a second to carefully wipe them away with his thumb, shushing under his breath.

Dewey, sniffling, cuddles close to his two brothers, resting his cheek up against Donald’s chest, feeling his uncle’s arms tighten around all of them before he begins the careful climb back out of the cave. 

It’s a silent plane ride back to McDuck manor, all family members quiet. Donald rests in the co-pilot seat, his feet kicked out in-front of him. His kids are still nestled against him, their little chests rising and falling against his. Sighing, the sailor presses kisses against each of their foreheads, checking once again to make sure that Louie’s arm isn’t bearing any of the young duck’s weight, the scratches maring his smallest son’s arm causing Donald himself to wince in sympathy. 

It thankfully wasn’t anything more than a few scrapes and bruises. Louie had flinched, of course, and made a sound that had nearly tore Donald’s heart to shreds when Scrooge gently lifted the green-clad duckling up from his place against his uncle’s chest enough to look over the injury.

“It’s okay, baby.” Donald soothed, running his fingers through the soft downy feathers on top of Louie’s head. “It’s okay, shh, we just have to look at your arm, Lou, make sure that it’s all covered up.”

“Aye, we don’t want these scrapes getting infected, that would make it far more uncomfortable than it already is,” Scrooge agrees, apologizing under his breath as he gently wipes Louie’s arm down with antiseptic before covering the cuts with colorful bandages from the first aid kit. “There, not so bad, is it?”

Louie doesn’t respond, just grumbles before settling back in place, his pout evening out when Donald gently kisses his forehead again.

Scrooge, after punching the autopilot into place, sits back in his own seat, watching with a fond expression as his nephew tends to his boys, reaching out to carefully smooth back Huey’s hair as the duckling sniffs.

By the time they touchdown on McDuck lawn, all three triplets are nearly asleep in their uncle’s protective embrace. 

Donald lets out a small yawn of his own, gathering up his kids and making his way into the mansion, feeling his feathers fluff up in the warmth and smell of home. Beside him, he can feel his Uncle Scrooge’s gaze dart across his face, searching for any sign of strain but Donald doesn’t let up, even when he feels his arms start to ache from holding all of his sons at once.

“I can have Mrs. Beakley start a bath for them, lad, if you want?” 

Shaking his head, Donald crosses into the kitchen, stopping for only a second to shoot Scrooge a grateful smile. “No, not right now, we’re all too tired for that, I think. I’m just going to get them settled into the boat house, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Reaching out, Scrooge rests a hand against his nephew’s shoulder, eyes tired but full of affection. “Holler if you need anything, you hear? I’ll prepare breakfast for us in the morning, something the boys will enjoy.”

“You mean you’ll have Mrs. Beakley prepare us breakfast,” Donald teases, but he leans into the touch nonetheless. “Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.” 

“I--” Scrooge swallows. “I love you laddie, love the whole lot of ya’ with all of my heart.”

“I love you, too.” Donald smiles, heart warming. “With all of my heart.”

Stepping away from the elder duck after a second, Donald carefully slips past him, out of the doorway and into the backyard, extra careful to keep from knocking any part of his boys against the wood. The deck of the boathouse bobs as Donald steps onto the bow, listening to the far-off sounds of bugs echoing through the cool night air.

He makes his way down the stairs, opening his bedroom door with his foot when he gets close enough. Finally, with a sigh, he gently lowers Huey, Dewey and Louie into his hammock, grabbing it as it sways. 

“Wha--?” Huey asks, blinking sleepily up at Donald through the darkness. 

“Shh, bubba.” Donald whispers, lightly pushing the duckling back down when he starts to sit up. “Lay down for me, hmm? It’s been a long day.” 

Huey lays back down without much protest, too tired to complain. He curls around his brothers, his little bill stretching in a huge yawn. Donald is forcefully reminded of when they were tiny baby ducklings sharing a crib, and a fond wave of nostalgia washes over him as he tucks a blanket around them.

Louie’s arm, once Donald gets the triplets mostly settled, is thankfully still covered up, and the oldest duck allows himself to scoot into the hammock himself. His boys immediately settle back against his side, Dewey tucked under Donald’s chin, Louie to his right and Huey to his left, their little hands clutching at his shirt, even in sleep.

Leaning down, Donald nuzzles his beak into each of their forehead, subconsciously starting to gently preen them, cleaning what little bit of feathers he can reach. He’ll have to _actually_ bathe all of them tomorrow, really get the dirt and grime off, but for now it's enough to settle both the anxiety and instincts churning his stomach.

Dewey stirs just a little, relaxing against Donald’s chest as he preens the top of his head. Donald pauses for a moment, waiting to see if he’s accidentally woken him up, but Dewey just mumbles under his breath and shifts into a more comfortable position. Beside him, both of his brothers still sleep, sniffling.

Donald resumes his careful preening, but then Dewey mumbles again, a little more coherently, forming words that melt his Uncle’s heart thoroughly.

“Can you sing to us, Dad?”

Donald doesn’t respond at first, too choked up to form any words at all, but he smiles softly, stroking his hand over the tuft of feathers that sticks up on top of Dewey’s head. Finally, he speaks, clearing his throat.

“Of course, buddy.”

Because how can he refuse when one of his babies makes a request like that?

_“Look at the stars,_   
_My darling baby boys_   
_Life is strange and vast_   
_Filled with wonders and joy. . .”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos make our day and comments fuel our writing! :D


End file.
